er father's. She was never idle. Mrs. Phelps more than once saw the
new-born child of a rancher's or miner's wife held in those capable
young arms, she saw the children at the mine gathering about Manzanita,
the women leaving their doorways for eager talk with her. And once,
during the Eastern woman's visit, death came to the Yerba Buena, and
Manzanita and young Jose spent the night in one of the ranch-houses,
and walked home, white, tired, and a little sobered, in the early
morning, for breakfast.

Manzanita rode and drove horses of which even her brothers were afraid;
she handled a gun well, she chattered enough Spanish, Portuguese,
Indian, and Italian to make herself understood by the ranch hands and
dairy-men. And when there was a housewarming, or a new barn to gather
in, she danced all night with a passionate enjoyment. It might be with
Austin, or the post-office clerk, or a young, sleek-haired rancher, or
a miner shining from soap and water; it mattered not to Manzanita, if
he could but dance. And when she and Mrs. Phelps drove, as they often
did, to spend the day with the gentle, keen, capable women on other
ranches thereabout, it was quite the usual thing to have them bring out
bolts of silk or gingham for Manzanita's inspection, and seriously
consult her as to fitting and cutting.

Mrs. Phelps immensely enjoyed these day-long visits, though she would
have denied it; hardly recognized the fact herself. One could grow well
acquainted in a day with the clean, big, bare ranch-houses, the very
old people in the shining kitchens, the three or four capable
companionable women who managed the family; one with a child at her
breast, perhaps another getting ready for her wedding, a third newly
widowed, but all dwelling harmoniously together and sharing alike the
care of menfolk and children. They would all make the Eastern woman
warmly welcome, eager for her talk of the world beyond their mountains,
and when she and Manzanita drove away, it was with jars of specially
chosen preserves and delicious cheeses in their hands, pumpkins and
grapes, late apples and perhaps a jug of cider in the little wagon
body, and a loaf of fresh-baked cake or bread still warm in a white
napkin. Hospitable children, dancing about the phaeton, would shout
generous offers of "bunnies" or "kitties," Manzanita would hang at a
dangerous angle over the wheel to accept good-by kisses, and perhaps
some old, old woman, limping out to stand blinking i